


The Nightvale Archives

by RaytheFae



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast), Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Characters to be added, Fix It, Fix it of sorts, Found Family, Not Really Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Canon Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:35:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24136708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaytheFae/pseuds/RaytheFae
Summary: Jonathan Sims stopped the apocolypse, and it costs him his life....But he was wanted elsewhere.
Comments: 53
Kudos: 289





	1. Chapter 1

Jonathan Sims died.

Or at least, he thought he had died. 

He’d felt his soul leave his body. He saw the apocolypse end around him, the world begin to return to its true state. Martin was crying. Martin was holding his empty shell of a body, his scarred corpse.

He was so, so sorry, but he was already gone. He was in Void, there was nothing but nothing around him. He wasn’t even a Thing anymore, just a him in an ocean of not him. 

He felt the Pull of the afterlife, a place of respite from the Fears, and the anger of the Eye about to lose its precious Archivist. 

Then he felt something else. A new Pull. A sense of satisfaction, the anger subsiding. A deal made. 

He opened his mouth, and made his own terms, and this new Pull, it was more like a person than his own god, it seemed to consider his terms, whatever it was his soul was screaming for, demanding in return, and agree. 

He’d only heard static when he spoke. He didn’t know how he was speaking with no mouth. To be without a body outside of the Afterlife, he Knew, was the most unnatural feeling possible. A torture the End liked to impose occasionally on its victims.

This Being, this new thing, not as strong as his own god, but strong enough to do what he wanted, had smiled. It was terrible. It was beautiful. 

**“It will take a while, and its a bit of a hassle… but an Archivist needs Assistants.”**

Trees. A sidewalk. A fence, all towering over him.

A park, he was in a park.

Everything that had happened hit him all at once. He’s incoherent, babbling, sobbing, his eyes glowing green with grief and confusion. The world was here, but he wasn’t supposed to be, how was he alive? Where was Martin? Why couldn’t the Universe just let him rest.

Most assumed this he was another normal citizen who was just having his monthly required public meltdown.

A kind soul approaches him to let him know that it was fine to have his public metldown, but maybe if he could keep the glowing eyes to a minimum, as that recently became a finable offense before five pm. Yes, yes, very inconvient, but it had been on the Radio. You do listen to the radio, don’t you? 

Jon was thrown out of his confusion fueled meltdown and looked at the kind soul. The man, dressed in a bit oddly and with eccentric colors, wearing a bolo tie with a purple eye, Looked at him. 

He Looked at him. This man wasn’t…he didn’t seem dangerous, but here he was, so naturally Looking at and into him.  
The Gaze didn’t feel…the same. Not from this strange man.  
It was…Innocent. Non evasive. Only seeking the relevant information, easing past anything that was private. A gaze that only wanted to assist and Voice the information. 

That word stayed in his mind. A new word of importance. A Voice, the Voice, Jon Knew this man was the Voice, just as Jon was the Archivist. 

“Oh, you’re not from Nightvale?” The man said. “ You’re already fitting in so well, for a tourist!” He said, trying to sound encouraging. 

“I’m not…I’m…” Jon felt his head begin to buzz. His vision darkened, and again, he was out cold. He didn’t feel the man catch him. 

This time, his soul stayed in the body, and his body, was in Nightvale.


	2. Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cecil and Carlos ponder about their guest. A very tired Jon ponders what the hell is going on.

### Chapter 2: Questions 

Cecil watched the small, far-too-thin, lanky man sleeping on the couch of his family’s home with curiosity. This man was very important. This man was very dangerous. He wasn’t sure how he knew these things, but like most things, he ignored the hows and the whys and focused instead on what he could know, what it seemed like he was currently allowed to know. He’d change what he knew about this man if it seemed necessary. 

He’d told Carlos and they’d agreed, this man was an unknown and dangerous factor, and sent Estaban off to stay with his Aunt and Uncle while they resolved this situation. Carlos was waving a Science device over the sleeping form of the passed out outsider on their couch. It was doing a lot of beeping. 

“Hm.” Carlos said, looking at the screen of his Science device.

“Sooo…?” Cecil asked. It was hard to keep the excitement out of his voice. Something new that wasn’t immediately dangerous in town, this would be fun to report on! If it was Approved, that is. 

“Physically he seems healthy. But.. he’s a twelve on the Weirdness Per Molecule scale.” Carlos said. “ His danger level is seventy. Uh, for comparison, our fridge is about a three?” 

“Huh. Do you think I should include that in the Good Samaritan Forms?” Cecil said, holding up a few pieces of municipal paper and a sharp piece of charcoal (pens were not allowed in nightvale). “ Probably under Additional Comments.” 

“That’s probably fine?” Carlos said, and went back to tapping on his Science device. “Cecil, the numbers here don’t add up. Someone new showing up to Nightvale with a danger level of seventy and a weirdness of thirteen, well, usually by now we’d all be in terrible danger. Nothing a little Science couldn’t fix, but, it’d be significant.”

Cecil handed out the proper paperwork to an awaiting government bird at the window. He watched it fly away, then returned his attention to Carlos.

“You sound worried, no...concerned.” He said. He took his frowning hero scientist husband’s hand in his.

“I am concerned.” Carlos sighed, but he smiled “ but this is also very scientifically interesting and...nice. Nice of you, Cecil, helping an outsider like this.” 

Cecil blushed and squeezed Carlos’ hand. “Well...you know, not every interloper is a bad thing. Sometimes, interlopers are the best thing.”

“Hnff…” the man on their couch interjected. He was frowning and sweating. It looked like he was having a terrible nightmare. 

Cecil cocked his head to the side, a strange expression overtaking his face, eyes taking on a slight purple sheen.

Carlos quietly took notes. His husband was doing It again. He didn’t think Cecil was even consciously aware of it—or was suppressing his awareness on purpose, as he was wont to do with any information he found too cognitively distressing. 

Sometimes, Cecil could just Know things. Things he couldn’t possibly know. Things he shouldn’t know. 

Carlos was worried. No. Concerned...no, worried. As this ability seemed to gradually increase in use. At first it was always only used for the benefit of the Radio Station reports, but gradually, it was increasingly a part of Cecil's everyday life.

Supernatural abilities weren’t anything out of the ordinary for this town, but he saw his gentle husband’s reactions, and that's what bothered him. The discomfort and confusion after getting an Interview from someone who definitely wouldn’t have wanted to give one, Taking statements that made coherent sense from incoherent survivors and witnesses, who babbled and sobbed until simply Asked their story, Carlos could see his sweet husband go through brief, but impossibly long, moments of horror written all over his face, before quickly suppressing it, not acknowledging anything had happened out of the ordinary. 

And so Carlos took notes, not secretly, but quietly. If he could understand it, he could explain it, and ease his husband's worries about...whatever had been slowly happening to him (or maybe what had always been happening to him, that he just hadn’t noticed before).

“He’s having terrible nightmares” Cecil suddenly spoke, voice shaking slightly, expression blank, eyes cold, distant, and purple.” . I...I think he died, I think he died somewhere far far far away from us, and I think Nightvale...claimed him, for something...and that more are coming…not all of them, friendly...” Cecil put a hand to his forehead. 

He didn’t like that he knew all this . He didn’t understand it. If he understood it, maybe he would like it less, though...  
He bore his teeth together, and like a true citizen of Nightvale, he barrelled past what caused him confusion and pain. 

He smiled as best he could. “Also, he’s British! “ he said cheerfully. “ Wow, Nightvale is really making waves for us to be getting british immigrants here in our little town, huh.” 

“ That’s true.” Carlos said. He put his arm around Cecil. He knew it wouldn’t do any good to try to make him acknowledge All That. Until it was absolutely necessary, he’d rather help him feel better after these strange informational outbursts than add to the stress.

They take a moment to simply be, together, with thousands of words unsaid. Some that needed to be said, others that never would be, all silently hanging in the air as dust. 

Carlos broke the silence. “Well. I’d better get started on my calculations, maybe a few tests, down at the lab.” He adjusted his large thick framed glasses. “Call me if anything changes, okay?”

“Of course.” Cecil said with a smile. He kisses Carlos on the cheek and walks him to the door, and waves goodbye. 

~  
Jon awoke with a start and a yelp of terror. He swore for a moment, he could see something faceless and old, staring at him without eyes, but the figure was gone once he sat up. Nightmares following him into the waking world. 

He paused in rubbing his forehead. Nightmares. He hadn’t...had any. Not of the usual manner, where he was staring forever at someone reliving their worst moments in an endless loop. Just normal nightmares from trauma. 

Relief bit down into his very bones and he couldn’t help but laugh, which got the attention of the man in the purple t-shirt, yellow sandals, rainbow shorts and ridiculously large belt and belt buckle. Ah, the same man who’d approached him earlier, he was standing in front of the door in the living room to the house. 

A house, he was in a house. A real house, not a trap from some nightmarish Fear god made real, but an actual house, a real couch, someone’s home.  
It’d worked. He Knew it would, had Seen that it had, as he died, but it’d truly, actually worked...and he wasn’t dead, somehow. He tried to Know why, but that just made him fall off of the couch, holding his head in pain. He straightened himself up quickly, and found himself watching the man who’d he met earlier, watch him back, wide eyed. 

The eccentric man grinned, stepped forward, and put out his hand. 

“Hi there! I’m Cecil. Radio Host, and the Voice of Nightvale.” He said cheerfully.  
Jon blinked, surprised at the man’s accent. American? How did he end up in America again, of all places.

“J-Jonathan Sims. The Archivist.” He said automatically. He didn’t have time to cringe at his instinctual usage of his title. 

“There’s that accent! How exciting. You’re moving here permanently right? You must have been so overwhelmed by all this strange American stuff that you passed out, am I right?” Cecil said. 

Jon stared at him. Jon Knew that Cecil Knew that what he was saying was nonsense. Well, the latter part was nonsense. 

Jon Knew, somehow, with growing trepidation, that Cecil was right about one thing--he was tied here. Whatever had brought him here had put that knowledge into his very bones.

“Right...yes, well, It's rather...complex, but I suppose I am...supposed to be here.” Jon managed to say. “ Here being...Nightvale, you said?”

“Nightvale.” Cecil nodded. “ We’ll show you fun in a handful of dust, as our tourism board says. Say, why don’t you sit down? I can get you some coffee. I just ground up some this afternoon, if you don’t mind not having a super fresh cup.” 

“”That...that would be lovely, thank you.” Jon said. He felt he was underreacting. Perhaps he was immune to all...this, now. Whatever it was. He sat back down on the couch, and Cecil went to the kitchen to prepare coffee. He looked around the room. There were multiple family pictures on the walls. Cecil with a dark skinned man, wearing a labcoat. Wedding photos of the two of them. The two of them with a small child at several locations. A happy family. 

It was...confusing. It was nice to see, yes, but, clearly this Cecil was touched by the Eye, he could sense it. How was he managing to live so normally? What if it was a front, was Jon in danger? No, he didn’t need to Look or Know for that, and he chided himself for so immediately leaning on those powers again. If he had indeed been given another chance, a clean slate, he had to make the best of it. No jumping to paranoid conclusions or relying heavily on his powers gained from his patron of pure evil. 

Cecil poked his head around the corner from the kitchen to the living room, interrupting Jon’s brooding. 

“How do you take your coffee?”

Jon wanted to answer “with as much cream and sugar as possible” but ended up saying “Oh, some...cream and sugar, thanks, if it's no trouble.” 

“Got it!” 

Cecil returned with two steaming cups of coffee. Jon saw Cecil’s was a light beige from all the cream and sugar and...possibly pieces of candy...floating in it. He looked down at his own cup, and saw it was the same. Well. He didn’t want to be rude. 

“Th..thanks.”

“So…” Cecil started, then failed to continue. 

“So…?” Jon said. He sipped his coffee, ignoring the burning, he needed something inside of him. For a moment his teeth hurt from all the sugar. Christ, if he’d actually said what he’d wanted, just how much would he have put in?

It made him miss Martin.

Well, even more than he did every second. Wait, if he was back, then, he had to contact Martin! He didn’t have his phone, perhaps he could Look and see where Martin was. 

He Looked.  
Martin was nowhere. It felt like hitting a brick wall. Information seeped into his mind and his heart sank. 

There was no way for him to contact Martin. This was a different timeline, for lack of a better word to describe it. His Martin was still back in his original world. 

But what was it that Being had said. An Archivist needs Assistants?  
No. He wouldn’t want to re-bind anyone to himself, to whatever plans this mysterious entity had.

“You said you’re an archivist?” Cecil said. “ I like the concept of Archives. Holds all the knowledge of a library without all the danger of librarians.”

“Danger of...er, well, I was an archivist. My...place of work has gone up in flames. Recently, or--I assume, recently. What is today’s date?” Jon asked. 

Cecil checked his bright orange spongebob watch. “ About 4pm, Sunday, May the fourteenth, 2020. Time works in Nightvale these days, so you can trust that it's right.”

Jon’s mind swirled with more questions, but he stuffed them down. “And...the world is...back to normal.”

“Did something happen to it?” Cecil asked. 

Jon paused. Images and memories streamed in of all the horrors he witnessed, was unable to, and still couldn’t, truly feel terrible about. He could feel guilt, but he couldn't feel bad about what he was seeing. It was stripped from him long ago. 

But this was a world with trees, and houses, and families, and strangely dressed men who hosted radio shows. 

He Knew that his apocalypse tried to reach this place, the knowledge worming in as he thought about the subject, but because of his actions in ending it in his own timeline, it never reached Nightvale.

“It did...but...I think it got better.” Jon said, allowing a small smile to pull up the corners of his lips. 

“Huh.” Cecil paused. His eyes took on a slight purple shimmer and he smiled. “It sounds like quite a tale. Something I could Report on! The Apocalypse that Never Was! You could come in for an interview after you’re set up in town. I’m sure the entire Town will want to know your Story.”

Jon watched as Cecil merrily talked about his job with such passion. A human passion, too, but there was...more to it. 

It was odd. Seeing Hunger in someone else's eyes. Was this how Cecil served the Eye? Divulging information to the masses? Knowledge that they shouldn’t, couldn’t, know? 

He supposed it was better than eating trauma and causing unending nightmares. 

“Yes, I think...I think that I will. It's the least I could do, after you’ve offered such assistance.”

“Excellent!” Cecil cried out. Jon started. God, Americans were so loud. “Oh, sorry, just.” Cecil giggled. “ excited. I love getting to cover a big story!” 

“I see.” Jon took a long sip of his too-sweet coffee. “ Lets hope its a good one, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: Added some stuff!  
> Jon's been through some shit, I feel like the weirdness of this situation would almost be a vacation.


	3. Sasha James

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Negotiations, and a new building appears in Nightvale

Sasha James was dead

Her soul ripped from her body, a body torn into nothingness by a creature eating her life.

The creature’s parting gift to her was the assurance that no one would remember her. 

Sasha was in the Void between life and afterlife, bodiless, full of white hot rage, clawing without hands to stay out of the After. She refused, she refused, she refused! It was unfair, it was a waste, her life would not be so meaningless.

So when a new overwhelming Presence offered her a choice, between life in a new form or the peace of death, she chose life. She couldn’t hear it talk, she had no ears, but she knew what it said, despite the lack of a brain.

It warned her that her old body, her humanity, was gone. If she returned, she needed a body, and the closest thing in existence to what Sasha had been was the body of the monster that destroyed her. 

It showed her. She could see without eyes. 

Jon, in a horrible world where the sky was made of eyes, becoming furious at the thing that ended her, at its mockery. She gasped without a mouth when he utterly destroyed it. The Presence didn’t bother explaining what was happening to Sasha, and she thought perhaps it’d take far too long to try. 

The Presence gently reached in just as the Thing was destroyed, picking up the lifeless grey mass of limbs and hair and twisted features that were nothing like Sasha, but somehow reminded herself of her own reflection. 

She knew, somehow, that in this new body, she’d be able to change her form.

The Presence Spoke

**“You will never recover your true face. But you will have your voice.”**

Sasha tried to force herself to consider the alternative of the After, but no. She had died without meaning to senseless evil. She would take back her life and put sense back into it.  
Just as she decided she would accept, the Presence added. 

**“Oh, by the way, you’ll be Bound to Archives, as before, and to My City.”**

She had a feeling it’d waited to say this until she’d already decided to Accept, but Accept she did.

It didn’t matter. She was taking back her life, she was going to make it mean something this time, strings attached and catches be damned. 

Searing white hot pain enveloped her, as she was forced back into the material world and into a body that was Not hers, forcibly made her own. 

When she awoke, she screamed, she screamed and screamed and screamed. She could feel the bones and skin and wetness of life around her, but it was all wrong. Too many limbs, grey skin, uncanny, distorted, it hurt, it hurt so much. 

She reached forward with one of her many arms and grabbed onto a...desk. A desk. She knew what those were. 

She took a few breaths, ignoring as best she could the squirming of her own innards, centering herself. She was in an office space. It was empty, but well lit, decorated, and warm. It felt very different from the cold atmosphere of the Archives. 

Sasha saw a photo on the desk. It was her, but the face was all wrong. Wasn’t it?  
She couldn’t remember.  
Well. Faces weren’t that important anyways, she knew who she was, even if she wasn’t sure what she was. 

She picked up the photo and stared at it, and felt her body...shift. It was an inviting feeling. It felt natural, like stretching your legs after a long car ride, so she rode it out. 

She noticed her hands first. The right color, no longer a gray, but rich brown beautiful skin, her skin. She put down the photo and rubbed her hands together and smiled, and her smile felt real. Natural. Maybe too many teeth, though. She had a heightened sense of every cell in her body, and she knew she had too many teeth.  
Ah well, she’d fix it later, it was nice just to be bipedal and two armed again and alive. 

Alive! She laughed loudly and twirled in place, then quickly realized she was naked. 

Oh god, she was standing in an office, naked! 

She ran behind and under the desk, and found there a small suitcase. There was a note attached. 

“HUMAN CLOTHES INSIDE  
— HUNTOKAR”

She quickly opened it, finding a random assortment of clothes, but there were enough to get properly dressed, even if mismatched and a bit loud for her usual tastes. She even put on the included top hat, she was just too giddy now, euphoric with life, to deny the silly impulse to be a little ridiculous. 

Life, life, life! 

She was going to devour and enjoy every last morsel of life she could carve out for herself, and she would never let anyone steal it again. 

…

Once she figured out where the hell she was. It was an office space. The layout reminded her of the Archives. The being that had taken her here, this HUNTOKAR, she presumed, said she was bound to archives.  
So in exchange for being alive again, this Being wanted her to go back to work. Sasha supposed she could live with that. 

She wandered down the hallways until she found a restroom. She stepped inside to look at her reflection.

She let out a yell, and nearly fell backwards.  
Her face was not her face. That she could handle, HUNTOKAR had warned her as such...but her eyes were all wrong. 

Obsidian black all the way, no whites or iris to be seen. 

She stepped closer and examined herself, pulling and prodding at her face. She concentrated on her eyes, trying to access that shifting feeling again, but they stayed the same. Black pools that shined in the light and with the wetness of life.

This was...this was a lot. 

Especially considering she not only did she find the way she looked creepy and uncanny, but also beautiful. She felt absolutely wonderful, giddy, even, staring into her own dark eyes, and when she smiled, her heart soared at just how many wonderful teeth she had, crammed together and in too many rows! It was horrible, it was terrible, it was sublime and ecstasy all at once. 

She took a deep breath and splashed cold water on her face.

Right. She’d deal with whatever all that meant later. Future Sasha’s problem! 

She stepped out again into the hallways. This time she heard voices, and so she followed them. 

She walked until she found herself in the lobby, all greens and golds and blacks, and saw just outside the glass doors to this place, people in uniforms, and people in suits with sunglasses, talking and gesturing to the building with frustration. 

She decided to try being friendly, to show she meant no harm, and try to get some answers. She jogged over to the doors and waved, smiling wide. 

The people in uniforms and suits screamed loudly, startling her, and ran away, still screaming. 

It was a wonderful sound, something about it satisfied something primal inside of Sasha’s body. 

But she wasn’t smiling anymore, despite that, because she knew they ran away because of her. Her eyes, her smile, it was too much for them. It...hurt.  
Oh.  
Monkey's paw, she supposed. 

Sasha went to one of the seating area couches and sat down, staring forlorn at the doors. 

She didn’t want to risk going outside and scaring more people away from her...no, for now, she’d wait, she was good at waiting. Someone else would come eventually. She wouldn’t be alone for long. 

~

Jonathan Sims couldn’t catch a break. 

It had been three days since he’d shown up in Nightvale. He had absolutely no money to his name, nothing but the clothes on his back. Cecil and his husband, Carlos, had been very generous, letting him crash on their couch as he tried to sort things out.

Jon pushed back his petty, jealous feelings at seeing Cecil, touched by the Eye as he was, with such an idyllic life. It made him ache for the cabin, before the apocalypse, when it was just him and Martin.

No. He couldn't dwell. He’d fall into despair if he thought about what he’d lost.

The couple had been giving Jon a crash course in Nightvale laws and customs and culture and what he could expect around town as well. Jon could hardly keep it all straight in his head. Part of him was glad he still seemed to retrain most of his abilities, though it was with relief and also a sense of disappointment that he’d rather avoid thinking about, that he realized he was not nearly as strong as he was during the apocalypse. He felt about as strong as he did just before it, though, and that also concerned him. 

Eventually he would need statements, and there was no Archive here. For now, he was well sated from his time in the Apocalypse, though. He hoped he would be for a long time. 

He was out on a walk in the park Cecil had found him .He tried not to stare as he passed by what Cecil had said were College Advisors--People with coyote heads. Just walking along the street, as if it was nothing, laughing, talking and yipping. There were girls in cheerleader outfits with small wings on their backs. A woman walked by him talking to a very large being that looked like a person, but had multiple eyes, large wings, and a halo of black light. 

He found himself smiling, just a little. He should be terrified, really. Who knew how many avatars existed here? In this town where a quarter of the population seemed to be supernaturally altered...but then he realized why he was smiling.  
The altered people, the non-humans, the monsters... were enjoying ice cream cones, talking with each other, reading pamphlets together, talking with the human beings around them, like they themselves were no different. 

He put out a hand onto a nearby tree to steady himself at the realization, and felt tears welling up in his eyes. No, this couldn't be something he could have, could it? He wasn’t just different. He’d hurt people, he’d hurt people very badly. 

Though, he didn’t have the nightmares anymore. His continuing hurt was over. Maybe...  
No, no, no. Jonathan stopped and turned around, leaving the park in a huff, hands in his pockets, hunched over.  
He didn’t deserve this. Whatever those people were, it wasn’t like him. They were victims who could recover, who could continue onwards in their humanity. 

Not like him. No, the best thing to do was to find the least populated area in this town and stay there until he grew old, if he still could grow old. 

As he turned another corner, deep in his thoughts about how to set up his life as a hermit, he ran into a large crowd. All surrounding the front of a huge building. 

He stared up at it. It reminded him of Smirke’s buildings, but with a modern twist, with large glass doors. Atop the columns was a large triangular shape that bore a relief sculpture of a stylized Luna Moth with a large Eye in its center. 

He found himself walking through the crowd, staring up at the luna moth, till he was at the edge where the Secret Police were keeping people away with friendly baton swings. 

But when Jon approached, he felt himself talking, it felt so natural. So easy, like falling into the rhythm of a statement. 

“ **I’m the Archivist. These are my Archives.** ”

The secret police nodded and stepped aside. The Knowledge that was somehow in his mind transferring into theirs as well, into everyone around him. This was the Archives, and he was the Archivist. 

Jon felt his smile widening, pupils blown out, shaking with anticipation, this place--was his, it was all his. It was empty, now, but it would soon be full, after he began collecting the stories of this town on paper and recorder. 

He tried to stop himself, for a moment, but he felt the pull, as strong as a statement, maybe stronger, and when he reached out for the locked doors, he saw a key in his hand, and that he was opening the doors. 

He walked inside and felt...whole.  
He also felt a weight on his shoulders, and felt something light dragging behind him.  
He held out his arms and saw...a robe? When the hell did he put this on? It was light mint green and stylized like a luna moth, and made him look like some kind of damn cult leader. 

No, absolutely not. 

He took it off and set it on the reception desk, but when he turned around, it was right back on his shoulders again. 

Before he could do or say anything more, he saw…

He Knew…

Jon put his hands up to his face. Eyes welling with tears of relief, happiness, and...horror. 

“S-Sasha?” He Knew it was her, but he had to hear it, he had to hear that voice.

The woman stood, smiling with closed lips, black eyes staring at Jon.  
She ran at him and tackled him to the ground. Jon almost started fighting back, until he felt her arms around him. 

A hug. He was being hugged. 

“JON!” Sasha cried out. She was crying. She was sobbing into his shoulders as they lay there on the ground. She wasn’t even sure why she was so happy to see him, they weren’t extremely close in life. Perhaps she knew now, how much he cared, from seeing him destroy that which destroyed her. Maybe it was just seeing a familiar face. 

Whatever it was, she couldn’t stop the stream of tears and happy sobbing laughter. 

Jon sat up and she held onto him. He was too stunned to move, but her voice was still echoing in his head, and he tried to hold back a sob, until he couldn’t anymore. He’d done this to her. He’d brought her back and she wasn’t human, he should be horrified...and yet. And yet. 

He wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug, and began to cry ugly tears of joy and relief.  
He didn’t deserve this, he shouldn’t accept it, but maybe, maybe, just for a little bit, he could be selfish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edit: Added some important stuff! just a little bit.   
> she's BACK baby  
> I've decided that black eyes and weird smiles are just the mark of The Stranger in Nightvale, since Kevin gives me strong Stranger vibes, so I just went for it.


	4. Settling In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A small tour of the Archives and some talking.

###  Settling In 

After what seemed like hours, Sasha finally let Jon go from the hug. She grabbed at his new robes hanging from his arms with amusement. 

“Bit on the fancy side for you, isn’t it?”

“It won’t, well, it does come off, but-“ Jon shook his head. “ Wait, I—how are you here?!” 

“Well, one moment I was dead, then another this...being, this…Huntokar.” She said. “They gave me a choice. Death and humanity or life and well, not being very human. But I think I’m as human as ever, since I still feel like myself, you know? Even if I am...different. It’s just me, but a bit different.” She put her hands on her new face to illustrate her point. “This isn’t right but...I do have my voice.”

She paused and gestured around the lobby. “Also, the deal has me bound here. I’m not entirely sure what that means, but I’ve got several working theories!” 

Jon smiled. “Of course you do…” he looked around at the Archives. His mind and body practically purred with satisfaction. As if he’d been away from home for ages, and finally returned after a long day of work. 

“Now, it’s my turn for questions.” Sasha said. “As in: what the hell are you now, Jon?” She was still smiling. Jon didn’t feel early as disturbed by that as what might be considered normal. Hearing her voice again( her real voice) was balm to his soul. 

“That’s...a very long story.” Jon sighed. 

“Make it a statement, then. We do that here, I assume?” Sasha said. “ I can give a more detailed story myself. Break in the Archives.” 

“That’s...not a bad idea.” Jon gestured, then felt something plastic and familiar in his hand. Tape recorder, already clicked on. “Ah. Well. Let’s explore the place a bit while I record.” 

He held the tape recorder up, and walked with Sasha arm in arm. He felt a little silly, but he wasn’t going to pull away. 

“Statement of Jonathan Sims, on his Becoming the Archivist. Statement given The seventh of May, 2020. Statement begins…”

—

“...Statement Ends.” Jon clicked off the tape recorder. He’d had to summarize most of it, but Sasha kept up and understood. They’d both taken a long moment after he’d told her about Tim, though she’d said something about perhaps seeing him again, if she was back. Jon wasn’t sure if he wanted to think that far ahead. 

Sasha was very quiet. They stopped in the hallway.

“You sacrifice yourself to save the world?” Sasha said, looking at Jon with...what was that, admiration? Jon hardly felt he deserved it. 

“I was the one who broke the world in the first place.” He sighed. 

Sasha wanted to get onto him about how wrong he was, how silly it was to think Jon was anything but a victim, till another thought crossed her mind, a bit more lighthearted. 

“So, you and Martin?” She grinned. “Is he here too? I knew he had a crush on you, but I never would have guessed it would work out! I’m very happy for you...oh.” 

Jon looked smaller than ever, and was staring down at the floor. 

“He uh...he was still alive, so…” He cleared his throat. “We’re...I died, and I hope he can move on, into the world, again. Find someone better.”

“You literally saved the world for him. And I’m here, aren’t I?” Sasha argued. “So maybe he’ll be here as well? We should try to find a way to ask Huntokar!”

“I’m...interested to learn about this Huntokar who seems to be responsible for all this.” Jon admitted. “But I’m not about to start contacting strange entities again, that usually doesn’t go well for me.” his energy deflated again. “Amd...no, I don’t want Martin to be here.”

“Why?”

“Because being here means he’d be Bound to these Archives, bound to me.”

“Huntokar gave me a choice, what if he chooses it?”

“I don’t want him to! He’s finally able to be free of me, he should be allowed to take advantage of that.” 

Sasha was very quiet, then shook her head. “Lets...let's just change topics…”

They walked in silence for a long while, till they came upon a new area of the building.

“The official Archival Offices.” Jon supplied. Knowing came even easier inside this place. He stepped forward and pushed the huge doors open. 

Inside was a living area with all the office amenities one could think of, water cooler, microwave, refrigerator, couches and magazines and bookshelves, even an entertainment area with a television.  
It was like the original Archives, but made by someone who cared, who wanted every last detail to be comfortable and tailored to those who worked there.

There were four doors, each with their own plaques, though two were blank. Sasha spotted her own, first. A tooth with a closed eye symbol, and a title. She approached the door and put a hand up on the plaque. 

“Sasha James. Senior Archival Assistant. Jon, did you do this?” She asked, looking back at him with wonder. 

“ Yes? And no. Not...consciously?” he flushed at his realization. “This place is...tailored, around my needs and wants and desires, I think, I--if you need anything changed, i think I can do it just by...thinking about it.” He grimaced. Having such total control over the work environment of his employees felt very...Magnus, like, in his opinion. Even if it wasn’t conscious. 

“Don’t look so upset, this is incredible!” Sasha said. “ Certainly better than whatever dull afterlife I was headed to.” She opened the door to the office and her eyebrows raised. “Oh, lots of teeth, and little jars of blood and formaldehyde, ooh! Dead dried flowers, I think that’s a skull too, how fun!”

“What the hell?” Jon rushed over, confused and disturbed. “ I don’t- I didn’t-”

“Honestly Jon, it's perfect, wonderful, oh I can’t wait to splash that blood around and...Er...” It was her turn to flush red. “Lets--not get into it, I just think maybe coming back has had some...side effects besides my face.” She laughed. It made Jon’s ears hurt a bit, but he ignored that. It was good that she was happy, at least. Even if she’d been made...Strange.

“Seriously though. I’m just rolling with it. I like weird things now, and, well, I guess that’s the price you pay for cheating death. I’ll get a therapist or something. Maybe not splash blood around, I think I just remembered that's...hm, unhygienic? Right. Don’t splash blood, keep it together Sasha, ha...” She waved her hand a bit. “ Please don’t worry about it, okay? I just listened to your statement, you’ve done quite enough worrying for a lifetime.” 

Jon was quiet for a few moments, considering his words carefully.  
“If..you ever need someone to talk to about it...I do have experience with no longer being, well, very human.” He said quietly. “And if you feel like you might want to do something that could be well, uh, immoral, please, don’t hesitate to come talk to me, all right? I’m….its my fault that you’re like this.”

“Jon. I had a choice.” She said, shutting the door to her office, sounding a bit more like her old self.“ I chose to live, and I’m going to live without regrets.” 

Her voice took on a high, lilting sound, almost giddy. “ I’m going to live deliciously, I’ll be so happy, I’ll just keep on smiling, and I’ll never let anyone take it from me!”

Jon was staring at her. 

Ah. She was being “weird”, clearing her throat. 

“However, I don’t plan on murdering anyone anytime soon. If that changes, I’ll let you know, all right? We can hide the body together.” 

Jon just stared at her.

She sighed. “Joking! I’m joking! C’mon, lets see what your office is like.” 

“Right.” Jon nodded, following her into his office. 

She seemed more excited than he did, pointing out everything. There were eye and moth motifs in many places, but it was all very tasteful. Professional and yet, comfortable. Homey, even.  
He watched Sasha seat herself in the chair behind the large desk and start going through the drawers.

He was drawn to staring at those obsidian pools where her eyes had once been, at the way her mouth curled and pulled back unnaturally into a truly disturbing facsimile of a smile, at the too-many teeth and the manic body language. The only thing truly still completely Sasha was her voice, that exactly matched the recordings he’d played over and over. Everything else was different, warped by the Fears that laid claim to her as soon as she’d entered this strange supernatural town. 

He’d need to talk with her at length soon, about what had happened to her. He Knew what powers had laid claim to her. It was odd to think that she was now embodying multiple powers, though of course, her strongest tie was what she now embodied: The Stranger. The Flesh certainly had a strong mark on her as well. The Fears seemed to blend together naturally in Nightvale. 

This was all so much to take in. He put his hands to his temples and wished everything would just stop happening for a few moments, so he could get his bearings. He’d barely gotten used to this town, and now he suddenly had a place in it, and Sasha was just here. 

He could Know everything he wanted about all of this, but that didn’t mean he could process or understand it any faster than any other human could.

“Jon? There’s an envelope here.” Sasha said, holding up a dark red envelope with what Jon Knew to be the City Council’s wax seal symbol. “ Addressed to you.” 

“Oh.” Jon shook himself out of his stupor, and took the envelope from Sasha’s outstretched hand. Her nails were black and he could see blood leaking out from the nail beds. He tore his gaze away from that and at the note. 

He stared at the seal and grimaced. He purposefully didn’t want to Know what was in there, or just know what was in there, or deal with this at all. At least Knowing was getting easier to press back, with the Eye no longer directly in the world, but now he had to deal with actually pursuing some knowledge on his own.

Cecil and Carlos had told him about the City Council, and the Eye seemed keen to fill him in on everything else. So much for pressing back Knowing.

The multi-limbed single bodied being (save for their teenage member who forced herself onto the council through threat of force). They had once been multiple beings, people with access to power that let them rule over Nightvale, until, apparently “Deborah messed up the spell”, transforming them into a monster. A monster that ruled with an iron fist, was easy to distract, was apparently dating Station Management, and liked to take long, sudden vacations whenever extreme danger came upon the town. 

There used to be a position of Mayor as well, until it was vacated. After this it seemed the Council had mellowed significantly, for now, at least. 

“ Will you please open the bloody envelope.” Sasha said impatiently. She handed him a letter opener from the desk. “ Here!” 

Jon sighed. He supposed there was no putting it off. He cut through the seal and opened the envelope. He pulled out the letter inside and coughed. He smelled musty and acrid, like very old blood. Sasha’s pupils dilated like a cat smelling catnip. 

“ _Jonathan Sims, Archivist. Welcome to Nightvale. We have foreseen your coming thanks to our spells and bloodstone chanting. Do not try to take over the town with your freaky powers from the damned Eye, and we will allow you to have your Archive and serve the purpose it serves. We think since it will assist in holding our...reality… together…_ ” Jon went through that sentence slowly, frowning. What? He tried to Look to see the answer, but came up short. Either it was concealed information, or the Eye simply didn’t want him to know. 

He looked at Sasha who just shrugged, sniffing the envelope that the letter came in. 

He turned his attention back to the letter. “ _Er, holding our reality together, we won’t fine you this time for having no permits for a new building. Within your desk you will find paperwork for yourself, your assistant, and whatever future assistants you might have. Don’t do anything that makes us devour you whole. Yours, The City Council…_ ”

“So, don’t mess with them and they won’t mess with us?” Sasha said. “Sounds like a scary City Council.” There was the sound of tearing paper and Jon didn’t want to look, though he knew what was happening. Sasha continued with a full mouth, teeth crunching on the plastic of the wax seal. “They send great letters though.” 

There was a long pause. Jon finally looked up at her, looking very very tired.  
Sasha stopped mid bite into the envelope, paper sticking out of her mouth. 

“...You know we haven’t even been upstairs yet.” Sasha said, face beat red as she took the envelope out of her mouth and all the pieces she could, setting it aside. 

“Sasha…” Jon started, hesitant. 

“I know I’m-- I’m just back, so I’m having trouble adjusting, a little, but-- don’t worry, I’m not-- I may not be human but I’m still good old Sasha!” She said, sounding almost panicked. “You know there’s--there’s a whole upstairs area that's nothing but living quarters? So no need for houses for us. We can live and work in the same building, isn’t that nice?”

A memory flashed. Of waking up in the hospital, of being told he shouldnt’ have woken up, that he shouldn't be alive. Of being abandoned by his friends and being threatened with death for his inhuman actions. An icy cold spread through him as he looked at Sasha, as she threw away the envelope and rubbed one arm with the other hand. 

No. He wouldn’t let her experience that. 

He stepped forward and grabbed her shoulder and turned her around slowly. She looked away from him, embarrassed. 

“Sasha...if…” he tried to find the right words. “If its not...immoral, then...I don’t care.” He said slowly. 

She cocked her head, looking at him quizzically. “What…?”

“It's fine. To do strange, inhuman, weird, whatever you want to call it, things. Around me. That’s all I’m saying.” He handed her the letter and let out a quiet laugh. “Er, this smells like something you might like.” 

She took the letter slowly and big, red tears welled up in her eyes and threatened to spill out yet again. “I…” She sniffled and the tears began to flow. “I didn’t think it’d be like this, I knew I wouldn’t be human but...it's all so much, and it’s only been a few hours, and I’m trying not to think about it. But I’m just-- it's so different, and I can’t tell where I begin and where this new me begins, or if there is even a “me” to me anymore, god Jon, I don’t even have my real face!” 

She started to cry. Big thick globs of red blood. Jon didn’t even feel nauseous. He’d Seen far worse things, now. Instead he went over to his desk and grabbed a box of tissues, and led her over to the couch in his office, and sat next to her. He awkwardly patted her back as she cried into several tissues. 

The whole office smelled of copper by the time she was done, and she looked over at Jon with her blood stained cheeks. She wasn’t even smiling now, but she looked less strained, at least. 

“Better?” Jon asked. She nodded. 

“Yes I...I guess I just need time. To settle in.” 

“We both do.” Jon said. He leaned back against the couch and thought hard, staring up at the ceiling. 

This Archive was his. It had a purpose in holding reality together, somehow. He had to find out exactly how to fulfill that role.  
He also knew the Archive was empty.  
So the thing to do was...fill it up, that had to be the way forward. 

“A week.” Jon said. 

“Hm?” 

“A week. We give ourselves a week to get settled. Then we open up the Archives to the public to receive statements. Only written ones though. I won’t be starting down the road of live statements again.” He said. The Beholding within him seemed to jerk at that, but he was going to hold firm to this. Endless nightmares were no help to anyone. Just because he was a monster didn’t mean he was going to act like one. 

“How are people going to know?” Sasha asked. “ To come here, to give their stories.” 

“Oh, I suppose that is a problem, perhaps the newspaper, or…” He sat up. “Oh, right, of course.”

He reached over to the radio next to the couch and turned it on. 

“ **Did you leave your oven on? No? Are you sure? Are you suuuure? Seriously, it's getting hot in here. Welcome, to Nightvale** ” The baritone voice on the radio echoed through the office. 

“I’ve come to learn that everyone listens to local radio, here, and I’ve promised the host-- Cecil Palmer, you should meet him, he’s quite a nice man, him and his husband, Carlos, they were taking care of me these last few days--anyways, I promised Cecil an interview. I think that would be the perfect time to publicize the work here.” 

“Jon! That’s fantastic. It's good to know we’re going to have a direction to go on now, and so soon.” Sasha grinned. 

Jon thought that her smile wasn’t hard to look at anymore. It was a relief, no matter how technically disturbing it was, and no matter how weird she acted, this was his friend. 

There was a horrible flesh-ripping sound as Sasha tore into the letter from City Council. The letter was somehow made of raw meat. Jon looked away as Sasha scarfed it down. 

All right. Maybe there were some things that were still hard to look at.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: Added some important paragraphs!  
> I fucking love Sasha James and I love weird antics so combining them was pretty much mandatory.


	5. Interview

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon explains, Cecil Dreams.

Cecil was dreaming. 

It was different from his usual dreams. He felt excited about putting this down in his dream journal.

It was a dark and purple night. He was wandering the scrub lands and the sand wastes. He held the station’s microphone in one hand, as he took long strides. Purposefully walking somewhere without knowing where or why. 

In his peripheral vision he saw Her. Huntokar. Staring at him. And yet, even knowing she was looking at him, he felt a bearing down on his body. Something else was watching him. 

He felt Huntokar pull his attention towards Her. She shook her head slowly. Sadly. 

One hand went towards the sky. 

Cecil followed her gaze. 

The moon was not a moon, but a great and terrible Eye. Boring into his soul, an endless blank void of a pupil reflecting nothing and drinking in his terror.

It filled him with dread, with fear that pulsed into his marrow.   
And yet. 

What elation he felt, in that dread. What a sweet, terrible, ecstasy. A pained smile stretched across his face as he felt his dread feed the terrible Eye. 

A god. A god, a god that looked and looked and felt nothing, but yet, It wanted. 

It wanted Cecil. It wanted to consume him, to envelope him completely. It wanted him to choose this fate, and accept the great and terrible changes to come, to bask in its dread, to feed himself to It. 

He wanted to look away as much as he wanted to continue looking back. 

He reached his microphone upwards towards the Eye, and felt a pull, a laugh escaping him, and he knew he was going to be consumed, and it would hurt so much, and fill him with unimaginable euphoria, and he was letting it happen...

Until he felt himself start to rise and Knew it was permanent, whatever it was, and oh god, what was he doing?! 

No, no no no no! 

He jerked back and landed on the sand, trembling with terror. 

Suddenly the Great Eye was inches from his face.   
Dissatisfied. Impatient. 

Huntokar was suddenly there in front of him, protective, and turned her great deer head towards him. 

**“Wake up.”**

Cecil awoke with a gasp, shooting upright in bed.

“Babe…?” Carlos was already awake and in his morning labcoat, sitting up and getting in a little reading before the day started in earnest. He put the book aside quickly. “Cecil, are you all right?” 

Cecil brought his knees up to his chest, staring ahead. His mouth moved but he couldn’t find words. Just a dry mouth and a useless tongue, and a body drenched in sweat. 

“Just...just a nightmare.” He manages to say, and forces himself to stretch out and put a smile on his face. “I’ve had worse, you know!” 

Carlos could see through the veneer of Cecil’s chipper attitude rather well by now. He didn’t want to pry too much, but it was good to check in. He leaned over close to his husband. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“ Maybe later.” He grabbed his dream journal from the nightstand, and his smuggled writing utensil from a secret compartment in the nearby lamp, and started jotting down the dream quickly before he lost it. “ I mean, most dreams mean something, but some don’t.” 

“That is scientifically accurate. At least for Nightvale.” Carlos said. He put a hand on Cecil’s back and gently rubbed circles. He felt Cecil slowly let the tension out of his posture.   
Whatever that nightmare had been had deeply affected his husband. He wanted to ask more about it, but he would wait. A scientist is good at waiting. 

As he watched Cecil get up for the day, his usual chipper self now, heading off to shower, he swore he saw that purple shine in his eyes, just for a moment. Was this connected to his husband's burgeoning abilities? 

He’d have to get more data, and soon.   
~~  
Jon was already waiting outside the radio station when Cecil arrived. Jon went to shake Cecil’s hand and the taller man wrapped him in a hug. 

“Jon! You look well.” Cecil said, letting Jon go. 

Jon brushed himself off. Americans were so...touchy. “Yes, I am doing far better than when you first found me. Again, I can’t thank you enough for your kindness.” He said. 

“Just being a hospitable neighbor. Though it's a shame I mistook you for a citizen at first, I didn’t even get to point fingers at you and yell INTERLOPER!” He said loudly. 

Jon had no idea if this was a joke and decided to ignore it. Cecil took out his keys and opened the door to the station.   
The radio station lobby was empty. Jon could definitely sense a presence in the area, though, and Saw it, just slightly, as they went through the lobby and down the hallway to the radio booth proper. 

A door with the sign Station Management scrawled overhead in runny red letters, with various dark shadows underneath the crack of the door. Just for a moment Jon let himself See what was behind there, then quickly forced his mental gaze away. 

“Management’s been pretty quiet recently.” Cecil said as they literally snuck past. Jon followed Cecil’s quiet footfalls and whispering voice. “We aren’t sure if that’s good or bad, so we’re trying to stay low. Intern Betty had the worst of it last week, I had to announce her uh...well. We have a new one now. Intern Jacob, he’s been...well, he’s quieter.” 

Jon never thought one could physically see an expression of pure denial on someone’s face. Cecil was pushing back grief through sheer effort, pushing back his ability to understand the consequences of what happened. Purposefully making himself not understand the implications of what he was saying. 

Right. Jon would have to do something about this, perhaps have a little chat with Station Management about preserving human life and showing them the knowledge of what happened last time a terrible person-eating power tried to stand against him. 

The Eye was helpfully letting him know that there had been dozens of workplace incidents, and exactly how Betty died. He pushed it back. One thing at a time. He knew just how dangerous a place Nightvale was, and that it was better than it used to be, though it was hard to believe. 

Perhaps with the knowledge of the Fears, of being able to categorize some of the terror in their lives, they could spot the danger before it was too late. Perhaps being able to Know things would finally be a boon to someone. 

What Jon wasn’t prepared for was actually watching Cecil do his broadcast.   
-

Jon had requested to sit in during the entire broadcast, as it's easier with his schedule. Not only was he paying good money for this segment (he had no idea how his banking information from another reality ended up in Nightvale, but apparently he’d had a lot of back pay he’d never used) but he’d heard Cecil on the Radio before, and all the bizarre and twisted things this poor man had to report on. He wanted to see how Cecil handled such a thing. 

Cecil smiled and nodded at Jon, then he sat down in front of his microphone.   
The On Air sign beamed on.

Jon tensed, watching Cecil with wide eyes, and knew what he was Seeing wasn’t what others saw.

Anyone else would see a calm radio professional getting ready to begin speaking. Jon saw through the veneer hiding what actually happened. 

A large purple glowing eye symbol appeared on Cecil’s throat, and a smaller version on his forehead.

Cecil’s eyes rolled backwards to the whites, then suddenly returned, a bright neon purple that left afterimages of his eyes wherever he looked. 

**“ Decay exists as an extant form of life. Welcome to Nightvale!”**

Jon sat quietly in the booth. He saw Corruption itself skitter across Cecil’s back, in the form of a mosquito. Evoked there by the sheer power of Cecil’s Voice. 

Then as quickly as it was there, it was gone, as Cecil moved on. 

“Hello listeners, we have a special treat today! As I’m sure you’ve noticed, we have a new building in town, and some new citizens.” That was Jon’s que to move seats and sit next to Cecil in the booth now, in front of the guest microphone.

“An Archive, an Archivist, and an Archivist Assistant. We know the name of the building and the titles of all those within it, somehow, I mean, I guess it was just common sense since we all suddenly knew all at once what the building was and the titles of the people in it, right?” He shuffled his papers slightly and cleared his throat. “Well, the Archivist of our new Nightvale Archives is here with me today to talk about the role of this exciting new addition to our community. Welcome to the show, Jonathan Sims, the Archivist” he said cheerfully. 

“ It's good to be here, Cecil.” Jon said. 

“I’m glad. Let's get down to it, just exactly, **what are the Archives?** ”

Jon could feel the compulsion hit a steel wall, but Knew that Cecil had no idea he had compelled Jon at all. He hadn’t heard him use it before, perhaps being in this Studio enhanced his abilities. 

“The Archives is a non-profit association where we store true stories of people’s encounters with the supernatural. Specifically having to do with the fourteen Fears.”

From there the conservation took an interesting turn. Cecil was deeply interested in the Fears, no one had heard of such a thing in Nightvale. Jon thought this might be the case. He calmly and efficiently explained with as much academic coldness and separation as he could (for his own sake) the fourteen Fears, how they had been summoned into the world through an unwilling conduit (himself), and how he had been brought into Nightvale after reversing the dread apocalypse. 

“I believe my role here is to assist in Nightvale’s reality remaining solid.”

“Wow.” Cecil said, eyebrows raised, wide, deep purple eyes drinking in all the information. “And how can our listeners at home help with such a good cause?” 

“We need stories. Submit written or recorded statements of your own brush with the supernatural that inspired a great fear in you, a traumatic experience. Please, do not feel pressured to share these experiences if you do not wish to, but, If you wish to record your story audibly, please only use tape recorders. Feel free to submit multiple stories, but only submit what you know is true, it will make it far easier for us to sort and organize..” He continued. “I understand every citizen in Nightvale likely experiences a brush with the supernatural once a day, so we are anticipating a fairly large turnout. I don’t mean this rudely, this is a...lovely town, Cecil, but it's very odd to have so many of the Fear Entities and other Supernatural occurrences in one area.”

“We’re weird.” Cecil laughed. “But we like it that way. Most of the time, when we aren’t in danger or being killed. But hey, that’s life, isn’t it? Inescapable Death.” 

Jon felt the room chill slightly as the End made its presence known for just a brief instant. 

“How would our listeners submit these stories? Bury them? Oh, chanting and burning the paper? Blood sacrifice?” Cecil guessed. “I mean, that’s how most applications get sent in around here.” 

Jon bit back his shock. He didn’t even know why that part of his brain worked anymore, and kept up his cool professional facade.“We do things a bit differently. We’ll be leaving a large box outside the Archives and in the lobbies, where statement-givers can feel free to leave behind their cassettes and written statements.” He then gave the address and a few technical details. 

“You heard it here, sweet Nightvale.” Cecil said. “ Time to tell your story! Be sure to submit something to The Nightvale Archives and help our local community. Thank you for being here, Jon.”

“Thank you for having me.” Jon said with a polite nod.

With Jon’s segment over, he repositioned himself and continued observing Cecil. 

He saw fog swirl around Cecil’s legs when he gave the live (Jon Looked and saw this was a true story happening on the road as Cecil spoke) story of a man wandering a Lonely road, contemplating his lack of connections with others. 

The Community calendar had Wednesday marked for Desolation and pain, and it left a searing heat just for a brief moment. Jon Looked and saw the calendar Cecil was looking at had a small spider insignia on it. Was this how the calendar was able to prophesy? 

Then there were long, bizarre messages from corporations that summoned the dirt of the buried, or the ozone of the vast, nearly every fear was touched upon and felt in the studio. 

Not to mention there were apparently rabid giant wolves that wore ties and lured people into alleyways to be eaten by offering to do their taxes as the top news story of the day. Some Victims escaped, most didn’t. The Sheriff's Secret Police eventually rounded these creatures up and returned them to whatever government lab they had escaped from in the first place. 

What surprised Jon the most, after he was done inwardly reeling about Cecil’s Voice being able to somehow partially summon manifestations of Fears, was the end of the broadcast. The Fear dissipating. Cecil’s eyes slowly lose that purple sheen, and Cecil ends on a note of...hope. Of human emotion and connection, staying together in times of crisis, and Love. 

Jon nearly cried. Perhaps this was how Cecil was hanging onto his humanity. The man was passionate, and perhaps a bit too into his own somewhat terrifying broadcasts, but he wasn’t consumed by his fear, or by the Fears, his focus was love and hope. His anchor to his humanity was his own love for his family and this town. 

Jon thought of Martin. His reason to keep moving onwards in that hell-scape. The love of his life, who he would never see again. He couldn’t even See him.

The On Air sign flicked off, and Cecil leaned back and took off his headphones, and grinned at Jon. 

“So?”

“That was...certainly something.” He said. “I mean, something good. You’re very passionate.”

Cecil grinned, standing up.   
“Why thank you! You really didn’t have to stay the whole time but I’m glad you seemed to get a kick out of it.” 

Jon thought he looked fuller, somehow. More complete than when they’d come in.   
Ah. This was how Cecil fed. Interesting. Now the question was, should he tell him? Certainly not now, but perhaps at some point.

They exchanged pleasantries. Jon loudly told Cecil to let him know if he felt he or his interns felt unsafe in their work environment because of their Management. Jon couldn’t do much about the cursed objects, but he wondered if that was because of their management as well. Cecil just nodded, looking nervously at Station Management’s door.

He couldn’t help but smirk slightly as he left and Looked, and saw Management grumbling amongst Itselves fearfully, he could taste it faintly as he entered a taxi and went back to the Archives.

Seemed they were nervous about an Eye knowing how to actually confront them, beings associated with the Dark. 

Good. Served them right. 

When he arrived at the Archives, he saw the boxes they’d put out to collect statements were already overflowing. Sasha was already loading them up onto a dolly and waved to Jon as he approached. 

He grinned, satisfied, and a deep part of the Beholding within him salivated at the buffet. He couldn’t help but be relieved—he’d never experience that insatiable hunger again. With this volume of statements it would be easy to avoid going on the prowl from hunger, to, so the dreams of Nightvale were safe. 

Sasha wheeled over another empty dolly and Jon’s good mood went a tad sour when he realized the sheer amount of work just he and Sasha would have to do. 

He looked up at the huge building and Knew it was full of other offices and even a small library. Much like the Magnus Institute. 

“I think we should put out wanted ads.” Jon said. 

“You better.” Sasha huffed, already exhausted. “It’ll take ages, even with my brilliant filing system.” 

“Filing system?” Jon asked, and realized with a bit of embarrassment he hadn’t even thought of that. 

Sasha grinned, the corners of her mouth bled slightly. She put down another box on Jon’s dolly. “Hurry up inside and I’ll show you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did a lot of summary of the actual broadcast. Maybe one day I’ll make a ficlet of the entire thing lol

**Author's Note:**

> This is entirely self indulgent. I just want Jon to live in Nightvale very badly.


End file.
